


Cold Nothings

by Mortefere (aldamita)



Series: Mor Oneshots [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 13:13:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aldamita/pseuds/Mortefere





	Cold Nothings

Droplets, like rain, sliding effortlessly down a sheet of single pain glass. Thin trails snaking down the surface, their remnants glittering in low light like the hint of rough diamond only just barely peeking out from stone. Flowing slowly, but steadily, down to drip from a ledge of jaw into darkness. Warm to the touch, at first, but chiller than the air by the time they spatter against hardwood floors.  
  
Night. The coming of the new moon. Darkness. This is when they came. On nights when even the sounds of of a thriving, writhing city couldn’t penetrate the vast emptiness that wrapped its cold arms around him in a tepid embrace. The tears would build, spill forth from the edge of strained eyelids to drip and slide down pallid cheeks. There was no wrenching sob to accompany them, no heartfelt plea. Just silence; a cold acceptance.  
  
Standing here in this empty room, bereft of all warmth and blanketed in darkness, staring out of the only window into the black expanse of sky, was the only time Jim would feel sadness. Not the depression that laced its fingers through his frame, that weakened his will to take every next step forward throughout every day of his life, but a bone-deep despondency- a chilling apathy for everything.  
  
After years- a lifetime, more like- of searching the stars, pulling apart and studying the very physics and atoms of the universe, in searching for the answers to all the questions the human mind could think to ask, he had stumbled upon one, finite conclusion: nothing. Nothing living or dead, true or false, created or destroyed would ever matter. Everything would die, everything would be destroyed, everything would be forgotten and wiped away like it had never existed in the first place. Life- _living_ meant nothing and there wasn’t a single thing the most dangerous man in London, the British government, or even the world’s only consulting detective could do about that fact.  
  
If there was a more powerful reason to shed a tear, Jim could not fathom it, and no kind word or warm embrace could ever fill the void created on these moonless nights. Alone, cold and empty, he would gaze into the abyss of the ink-black sky; alone, he would feel the abyss gaze back at him with cold, empty eyes; and, alone, he would weep in silence over nothing.


End file.
